Kitabı oku: «The Mighty Quinns: Callum», sayfa 2

Even now, she imagined the headlines in the papers, the proof in black and white that Gemma Moynihan, illegitimate daughter of David Parnell, was an heir to the Parnell millions. Though her mother refused to ask for a DNA test, the emerald would be Gemma’s bargaining chip. If they wanted it back, then David would have to acknowledge her as his daughter.

She’d completed her research in six months and was armed with a list of leads, all of which led her to Australia and the descendants of Crevan Quinn. One didn’t possess a jewel like that without either selling it or passing it down as an heirloom. And since an emerald that size would have caused some notice had it been sold, it was probably still in the Quinn’s possession.

“Can you hold these?”

Gemma brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, startled back to reality by the stranger’s voice. He handed her the nuts. “That was quick. I don’t think I’d ever have been able to get those off on my own. I—I hope I’m not keeping you from anything,” she said.

“Nothing important.” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans, then walked to the tailgate to retrieve the spare. “You should get the tire repaired straight away. You don’t want to get stranded out here again without a spare.” He shoved the spare onto the bolts and she handed him the nuts, one by one.

“Good advice,” she murmured.

“You’re from Ireland.” He looked at her again, this time with a rather odd expression. “Are you here for a visit?”

It was the closest they’d come to a two-sided conversation and Gemma jumped at the chance. She was known to be quite charming, with a ready wit. But she hadn’t had a chance to prove herself with this man. “I am. I’m staying out at Kerry Creek Station. Do you know it?”

She saw his shoulders stiffen. “Is that where you’re headed now?”

She nodded. “And you? Do you live out here or in town?”

He pointed off toward the west. “Right out there, beyond the black stump. In the back of nowhere.”

Well, if she wanted to find him, it wasn’t going to be easy with those directions. Was the black stump a local landmark, or just another Aussie saying? For such a gorgeous man, he was impossible to flirt with.

Gemma stared down at his back as he let the car down with the jack, fascinated by the way his dark hair curled around his collar and his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers twitched as she fought the urge to touch him again. She held her breath in an effort to focus her mind.

When he’d finished, he bolted the flat to the rack on the tailgate and tossed the jack inside. “There you go,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Good as new. Or almost.”

“You must let me pay you,” Gemma insisted. “Or let me treat you to lunch. There’s a lovely coffee shop in town. They make the best meat pies.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m happy to oblige, miss.” He hesitated and she was certain he was about to change his mind, but then he moved toward his truck. “G’day, miss. Drive safe.” He gave her a quick tip of his hat and walked away. She watched as he hopped inside, then slowly backed the truck out of the gully and onto the road. As he drove off toward town, Gemma stared after him.

She pressed her hand to her chest, her heart beating furiously beneath her fingertips. “Idiot,” she muttered. She’d made a botch of that. All the other men she’d met here in Australia had seemed to like her. He was probably involved, or married. Or not attracted to her in the least. Maybe Australian men didn’t fancy pale Irish girls with red hair and small breasts.

Besides, not all white knights were supposed to fall in love with their damsels in distress. It was a historical fact. Once she got back to Dublin, she’d research it thoroughly and write a paper. Gemma smiled to herself. Whenever she found herself faced with a dilemma, it always helped to put it in historical context.

“I SAID I WAS SORRY.”

Cal stared at the toes of his boots as his brother apologized. Though he knew he ought to kick Brody’s arse for his behavior, he was tired of being his brother’s keeper. If Brody wanted to stuff up his life, then that was his choice. Cal was much more interested in thinking about the woman he’d met on the road.

Gemma Moynihan. When Mary had mentioned her, he’d assumed the genealogist would be older, a granny sort with gray hair and glasses. Instead, she was stunningly beautiful, with flawless skin and a riot of auburn hair that fell in waves around her face. Though she looked quite young, Cal guessed she was probably about his age, give or take a few years on either side.

From the moment he heard her speak, in that lilting Irish accent, Cal had wondered if she was the one. And when he learned her name, he thought of introducing himself right then and there. But she’d already left him tongue-tied and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself right off. He needed time to gather his wits about him.

It had taken him the entire ride into town to calm his racing pulse and consider what their encounter had meant. Though he’d maintained his calm while speaking to her, it had taken a tremendous effort not to stare at her, to analyze her every word and to fantasize about what she’d look like naked.

He rubbed his hands together, remembering the feel of her silken skin beneath his fingertips. Would he have another chance with her? Or would things change when she found out who he really was? Suddenly, he wanted to get out of Bilbarra and return to the station to find out.

“You’re turning into a fair wanker, you are,” Cal muttered. “You could find something better to do with yourself. Like lending a hand on the station. We could use your help mustering now that Teague’s practice is starting to take off. He’s been taking calls almost every day. And when he’s home, he spends his time doing paperwork.”

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to do,” Brody replied. “But it bloody well doesn’t include stockman’s work. Now, can I have my keys? I’ve got some place to go.”

Cal reached in his jacket pocket for the spare key to his brother’s Land Rover. “Buddy doesn’t want you back at the Spotted Dog. You’re going to have to find yourself another place to get pissed. Or you could give up the coldies. It would save you some money.” Cal patted his brother on the shoulder. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to. Sometimes life is just crap. But you pick yourself up and you get on with it. And you stop being such a dickhead.”

Brody gave his brother a shove, then stood up. “Give it a rest. If I needed a mother, I’d move back to Sydney and live with the one I already have.”

Brody snatched his keys from Cal’s hand, then jogged down the front steps and out into the dusty street. “I’ll catch you later.”

Cal watched him stride toward the Spotted Dog. He heard the screen door of the police station creak and Angus Embley, the town police chief, stepped outside.

“How much trouble did he make?” Cal asked.

“Nothing too serious. Just a broken mirror.”

“Well, if he can’t drink at the Spotted Dog, he’s going to have to drive halfway to Brisbane to find another pub.”

“Give the boy a break, Cal,” Angus said. “It’s got to be an adjustment coming back here after all that time away.”

Cal slowly stood and adjusted the brim of his hat. “Thanks for taking him in, Angus. I don’t like the thought of him driving back to the station when he’s pissed. It’s good to know he has a place to sleep it off.”

“No worries,” Angus said with a nod.

Cal walked back to his ute and jumped inside. Though he had Mary’s grocery list in his pocket and orders to stop for the mail and her library books, he was tempted to head right back to Kerry Creek.

It felt odd to be preoccupied with thoughts of a woman. Running a successful cattle station usually consumed all his attention. But there were times when Cal worried needlessly over business because there was nothing else in his life to think about. The genealogist was worth additional consideration.

He steered the ute towards the post office. Many of the outback stations got their mail by plane, but Teague and Brody spent enough time in town that they usually picked it up and brought it home, saving the mail plane a trip.

He grabbed a stack of letters from Mel Callahan, the seventy-five-year-old clerk, then returned to his ute. But one of the envelopes caught his eye and he stopped to open it. “You have been matched with three lovely mates,” he murmured, reading the note inside. He flipped through the three photos, then continued reading. “To learn more, visit their profiles on the Outback-Mates Web site.”

He looked at the three candidates again, studying them carefully. There wasn’t one who came close to Gemma Moynihan’s beauty, though they were all quite pretty by anyone’s standards. But there was something about the Irish girl he found compelling, something that made him want to get to know her a lot better…and more intimately.

“Sorry, ladies.” Cal jumped back into the pickup, then opened the glove box and shoved the envelope inside. For now, he was taking himself off the menu. As long as Gemma was staying at Kerry Creek, he’d focus his modest charms on her. After all, what did he have to lose? She was beautiful, intriguing and close at hand, three qualities that he found irresistible.

Cal reached for the key, then stopped. What if he fell in love with her? Still, that wasn’t likely. He’d never been in love before, so he probably wouldn’t know it if it dropped out of the sky and hit him on the noggin. But he did know about lust. And his feelings for Gemma were definitely of the lustful variety.

After she left Kerry Creek, he’d get back to his search for a wife. Cal pulled out onto the street and headed out of Bilbarra toward the station, the groceries forgotten. Unfortunately, the ride dragged on forever. He’d covered the distance between the station and town so many times it had become second nature. He knew all the landmarks and could probably find his way home blindfolded. But now that he had something important to do, every kilometer passed at a grindingly slow pace.

By the time he pulled into the yard, Cal figured he was about an hour behind Gemma. It was nearly time for lunch and if he was lucky, he’d find her sitting at the kitchen table with Mary. He took the steps two at a time and pulled the screen door open. But the kitchen was empty.

A huge pot of mutton stew bubbled on the stove and Mary had freshly baked bread to go with it. Cal decided to use the extra time to clean up. He hung his hat on the peg, then strode through the house to the stairs. He met Mary coming down.

“Oh, wonderful. You’re back. I’m almost out of coffee and I need yeast to—”

“I didn’t get supplies,” Cal said. “Sorry. We’ll call Teague. He can pick them up when he’s in town today. Where is “Gemma Moynihan?”

Mary gave him an odd look. “She’s in the bunkhouse unpacking her things. She drove into town at dawn to get them. She said she had a flat tire on her way back to the station but some bloke stopped and changed it for her.”

“Yes. That was me,” he said.

“So you met her?” Mary asked.

“Not properly. Why didn’t you tell me she was…you know.”

“Young?”

“Pretty,” he said.

“I thought you’d find out soon enough.”

“Did you invite her to lunch?” Cal asked.

“I told her I’d take her out something to eat after the boys were fed.”

“Leave that to me,” he said. “I’m just going to change and I’ll be right down.”

He ran up the stairs and into his room, stripping off his shirt along the way. Though he’d taken a shower before breakfast, he figured another wouldn’t hurt. The road had been dusty and his hair was sticking up all willy-nilly. He only had one chance to make a first impression—or a second impression.

He managed a shower in less than five minutes, then grabbed a towel for his wet hair. Luckily, he’d taken the time to shave off three days of stubble that morning. A splash of cologne was probably overkill, so he set the bottle back on the shelf.

Cal stepped into the hallway, rubbing his head with the towel until his hair was barely damp. But when he pulled the towel away, he found Gemma standing next to the linen closet, a blanket clutched to her chest, her eyes wide. A tiny cry of surprise slipped from her lips as the blanket dropped to the floor.

They both bent to pick it up, Cal getting to it first. He held it out to her as he rose. Gemma straightened, her gaze drifting along his naked body. He struggled to wrap the towel around his waist, but with only one hand, it was impossible to do. It seemed like an eternity before she took the blanket from him.

A long embarrassed silence followed as he tried to come up with a clever line. Of all the scenarios he’d gone over in his mind, this was not the way he’d intended their first meeting to go—him starkers and her all fascinated with his bits and pieces. Cal swallowed hard, realizing there was only one thing to say. “Hello,” he said.

Her gaze quickly returned to his face and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said. Though this wasn’t exactly the way he wanted it to go, he’d have to make the best of it. “I’m Callum Quinn. Cal.”

Stunned, she slowly took his outstretched hand, her fingers soft against his palm. “I’m—”

“Gemma Moynihan,” he said. “I know. The genealogist. Mary told me.”

She frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “But why didn’t you introduce yourself on the road?”

“I didn’t realize who you were at first. I thought you’d be older—I mean, I just assumed. Mary didn’t say that you—weren’t. Older.”

She looked around, as if searching for the quickest means of escape. “I—I should let you get dressed. Mary just sent me up to fetch another blanket for the bunkhouse.”

“I’m sure she did,” he muttered, wondering at the housekeeper’s motives. “I’ll see you later?”

Gemma nodded. “Right. Later, then. All right.” She turned and hurried back to the stairs, looking over her shoulder once before descending. Cal listened as her footfalls echoed from the lower hallway, then leaned back against the wall.

He’d always been the one who’d struggled to speak around women. It was obvious his lack of clothing had something to do with her unease. Maybe that was the key with this woman? To shed his clothes as quickly as possible whenever the conversation slowed so neither one of them would have to talk?

Fate had dropped Gemma Moynihan into the middle of the outback and he was going to make the best of the opportunity. In reality, she was trapped here, waiting for him to enlighten her about his family history. He’d dole out a few interesting tidbits here and there, just enough to keep her around long enough for him to explore this attraction between them.

But the first thing he’d do was make it clear to every man on Kerry Creek Station, including his two brothers, that Gemma was off-limits. Though he knew she wouldn’t be staying long, he could use the practice. When the right woman did present herself, he wanted to be ready.

“Lunch,” he murmured. He’d get Mary to make up something for them both and then he’d take her on a tour of the station. The more time they spent alone, the better his chances of charming her. And if that didn’t work, he’d just strip down and tempt her with his other attributes.

2

GEMMA RACED DOWN THE STAIRS, her face hot, her pulse pounding. She stopped at the bottom, grasping the newel post and drawing a deep breath. Had she just imagined that entire encounter? She’d spent the drive to Kerry Creek mentally undressing the man she’d met on the road, trying to conjure an image of him without his clothes. Was it any wonder that all came back when she met him again?

“No,” she murmured. He had definitely been naked. She had imagined a good body beneath those clothes, but nothing quite as perfect as what she’d seen upstairs. She took a ragged breath, then continued on to the kitchen, desperate to return to the bunkhouse where she could enjoy her embarrassment in solitude.

“Did you find it?” Mary asked as Gemma hurried through the kitchen.

“Yes, thank you,” Gemma called, shoving the screen door open with her free hand.

Some of the ranch hands were coming in for lunch and they watched her with unabashed interest as she passed. She wondered if her face was as red as it felt. It wasn’t like she’d never seen a naked man before. She had—many times. But what had ever possessed her to stare in such a blatant way?

Gemma walked inside the bunkhouse, then slammed the door behind her. Crossing to the bed, she flopped onto it, facedown into the pillow. An image of Cal flashed in her mind again. Oh, God. He had an incredible body, from top to toe, and the all the interesting parts in between. She groaned again. Yes, there, too.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Gemma said as she rolled onto her back. From the moment he’d driven off, she’d regretted not being more aggressive. She had always been the one in control of a relationship. She’d decided when it began and when it ended.

Similarly, she’d decided she wanted the post as senior instructor at University College, and had convinced the entire department that, even at her young age, she was the perfect person for the job. Her article on Irish religious icons made the cover of the university’s history journal, because she’d decided that was where it belonged. And when they’d demanded that she teach during the summer, she’d convinced them that her time would be much better spent doing research for a new book.

But here, she’d seen something she wanted—a man—and she was suddenly afraid to go after him. A summer romance was exactly what she needed, even though it was technically a winter romance here in Australia. It had been months since she’d been with a man. Yet, it didn’t seem quite ethical.

She was here to extract information from Cal. If they had a physical relationship at the same time, wouldn’t she be using her body to further her agenda? Gemma pinched her eyes shut. Wasn’t that what sex was about? Most women had an agenda—first sex, then marriage, a comfortable life, a good future. Her plan was just a wee bit different.

But if he knew what she was here for, then she wouldn’t be deceiving anyone. An emerald worth a half million English pounds wasn’t something he’d just turn over, simply because she said it belonged to her family. And if she found proof of the sale of the stone, then she could demand he return the ill-gotten profits.

The more Gemma became involved in her scheme, the more she realized how complicated things could become. But a few nights of brilliant sex was nothing compared to assuring her identity as a Parnell. She’d wanted Cal Quinn’s body for about three hours. She’d wanted to be a Parnell for years.

Gemma had always been so practical about sex. The physical release was enjoyable but she’d carefully avoided emotional attachments. Though there had been a number of lovers in her life, she’d never been in love. Watching her mother gradually destroy herself over a man she couldn’t have was enough to make Gemma cautious.

A knock sounded on the bunkhouse door and she sat up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Gemma weighed the chances that Cal was on the other side. How could she face him without thinking about his naked—? She groaned as the knock grew more insistent.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung open and Mary walked in with a tray. “Hello, there. I’ve brought you some lunch. Just a sandwich and some crisps. And a lovely slice of apple pie.” She set it down on the table near the door. “The boys are having stew, but I thought you’d prefer this. What would you care to drink? We have beer, lemonade and wine. There’s even milk, if you prefer that.”

“Lemonade is fine, thanks. But you don’t have to wait on me. I’ll come in.”

“No, no, I’ll send Cal out with it. You two can meet—again.”

Gemma covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Jaysus, he told you about that?” She shook her head and peeked between her fingers at the housekeeper. “He startled me and I didn’t know what to do or where to look. One isn’t often confronted with a naked man.”

Mary gasped. “Naked? What was he doing driving around in the nuddy?”

“Driving?” She paused, then smiled. “Oh, no. I’m not talking about the first time we met. I’m talking about the second time. Upstairs. He was coming out of the bath and I was—”

“Oh dear,” Mary said, a look of horror on her face. “Oh, I am so sorry. He said he was going up to change his clothes. I just assumed he’d come down and gone outside.” Flustered, the housekeeper began to rearrange the lunch on the table.

“Don’t worry,” Gemma said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy the view. He is quite fetching in the nip.”

Mary glanced over at her, then laughed. “I see you’ll fit in just fine around here. Living with all these men takes a certain amount of tolerance. That’s why I think it best you work your way up to meals in the kitchen. Their behavior can be bawdy and their language a little raw.”

“I’m Irish. We invented bawdy,” she said.

“Well, then, we’ll see you at dinner. And I’ll just go get that lemonade.”

Gemma pulled on her cardie and grabbed her sandwich and crisps, following Mary out onto the porch. The winter weather in Queensland was much warmer than winter in Dublin, pleasant enough to eat lunch alfresco. She plopped down on the top step and set her plate beside her. The sandwich was huge—a thick slab of warm ham between two slices of homemade bread. Mary had added mustard, remembering that Gemma had liked it from their lunch the day before.

Gemma had left so early for Bilbarra that she hadn’t bothered with breakfast. Famished, she took a huge bite of the sandwich and sighed. Food tasted so much better here. Maybe it was because someone more competent than herself was doing the cooking.

She heard the screen door slam and Gemma looked up to see Cal striding across the yard, a glass of lemonade in his hand. She chewed furiously and managed to swallow right before he stopped in front of her. “Hi,” she croaked, pasting a bright smile on her face.

“Mary sent this out.”

Gemma took it from his outstretched hand, avoiding his gaze. “Thanks.”

He rocked back on his heels and nodded, his hands shoved in his jean pockets. “Well, enjoy your lunch.”

“Would you care to join me?” Gemma asked. “This sandwich is big enough for the both of us.”

Cal thought about her offer for a long moment, then shrugged. “Sure. But first, I want to apologize for—”

“Oh, no,” Gemma interrupted. “You don’t have to—It was my—I didn’t mind.” She laughed nervously. “I mean, it didn’t bother me. I have seen a man naked before. Several times. More than several. Many.” She winced. “Not that many. Enough.”

“And you’d rather not see any more?”

“No,” she said. “Yes. I’d rather not be surprised by one. But I don’t mind…looking.” Gemma took another bite of her sandwich. She wasn’t having much luck using her mouth to speak. Perhaps she ought to stick to chewing.

“Mary said you wanted to talk to me about our family history.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

She’d expected the question and had a story all worked out. “Because I’m interested in what happened after your ancestors left Ireland. I’m working on a book. On the Quinn family.”

“Why the Quinns?” he asked.

“Because a Quinn is paying me to do the research,” she lied. “Edwin Quinn. He’s a very important man. And he wants to know more about his family.” She held her breath, waiting for him to either question her further or accept the story as it was.

“Why would someone pay to know all that? All those people are dead. That’s the past. Aren’t you more interested in the present?”

“I’m a historian. We’re supposed to be interested in the past,” Gemma explained. “And I think dead people can be very interesting. Did you know your third great-grandfather, Crevan Quinn, came to Australia on a convict ship?”

He nodded. “Most of the early settlers in Australia did. He was a thief. A pickpocket. He served his time and his parole in New South Wales and after that, he was a free man. He came up to Queensland and worked hard, bought some land and started Kerry Creek.” He took a bite of his half of the sandwich. “There’s a painting of him in the front parlor.”

“I’d like to see that,” Gemma said.

“I’ll take you on a tour of the station, if you like. Although there are more interesting things to see than that old painting.”

She looked over at him and noticed that he had a bit of mustard on his lower lip. Without thinking, Gemma reached out and wiped it away with her finger. But then, she wasn’t sure what to do with it. “Mustard,” she murmured.

He took her hand and pulled her finger to his lips, then licked the yellow blob from the tip. It was such a silly thing, but Gemma felt a flood of heat race through her body. She drew a quick breath, desperate to maintain her composure.

Cal didn’t seem to be faring much better. He quickly let loose of her hand. She picked up the lemonade and took a gulp, hoping to break the tension. But the drink was more tart than she expected and it went down the wrong way. The more Gemma coughed, the worse it became and before long, her eyes were watering.

“Are you all right? Are you choking?”

He smoothed his hand over her back, gently patting. But his touch only made her more uncomfortable. She imagined his hands moving to her face, to her breasts, to her—“Oh,” she groaned.

“Here, take another drink,” he said, holding the glass in front of her.

She waved him off, knowing that lemonade was the last thing she needed. Was there a reason she made a fool of herself every time he came near? When she’d finally regained control, she stared up at him through her tears, her gaze fixing on his mouth. He had such a nice mouth, Gemma mused.

And then, as if the humiliation wasn’t enough, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss took him by surprise and he drew back, a startled expression on his face. Had she made a mistake? Had she misread the attraction between them?

Gemma cleared her throat. “Sorry. I have no idea why I did that.” She paused, searching for a plausible excuse. “I wanted to thank you. For everything. Helping me on the road, giving me a place to stay. Talking to me about your family. That’s all.”

“No worries,” he murmured. Cal drew a deep breath, his lips still inches from hers. “So, what about that tour?”

His breath was warm on her mouth and Gemma knew if she leaned forward, it would happen again. And this time, it would be better, because it wouldn’t be a surprise to either one of them. “Now? I’d like to get started on my research if possible. Mary said you have some old family records in your library?”

“Sure. She can show you. We’ll get together later. This evening. After dinner?”

“Mary invited me to join everyone in the kitchen. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

He nodded.

“Then we’ll go after we eat. It’s a date.” Oh, she hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s a plan,” she corrected. “A good plan.”

The sound of an approaching car caught Cal’s attention and he turned to watch a Land Rover drive into the yard. A soft curse slipped from his lips.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“My brother, Brody.” Cal slowly stood as Brody hopped out of the car and ran around to the passenger side. A woman stepped out and Brody walked with her to the back door.

“It looks like he’s brought another guest,” she said. “Is that his girlfriend?”

Cal forced a smile. “I have to go. But I’ll see you later.”

He held out his hand, then drew it back. A handshake didn’t seem right now that they’d kissed, Gemma mused. But what would be a proper way to part? She stood up and pressed her hand to his chest. He stared down at her fingers as she smoothed the faded fabric of his shirt. “I’ll see you later.”

Cal hesitated, before nodding, then jogging down the steps. Gemma rubbed her arms, trying to banish the shiver of excitement she felt. Cal Quinn wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met. She’d always dated older men—at least ten years older. Men who had been sophisticated and highly educated, who spent their days thinking, not doing. Gemma had always assumed she’d been looking for that father figure she’d lacked in her life.

But Cal was nothing at all like her father—or like the men she’d dated. He was young and strong and undeniably sexy. Was she willing to put aside her quest to gain a father for a chance at a different kind of lover, a man who made her heart race and her knees wobble?

Gemma sat back down and picked up her sandwich. “I’ll just have to separate my personal life from my…personal life.” And deal with the consequences later.

CAL OPENED THE SCREEN DOOR and stepped inside the kitchen. The scent of Mary’s pot roast hung in the air and she stood at the stove, making gravy from the pan drippings. He looked at the clock. Dinner began in exactly five minutes. Promptness at meal times was one of the only rules that Mary enforced at the station. But Cal was dirty and sweaty from working all day and he needed time to get cleaned up before he saw Gemma again.

He’d spent the day repairing the gates in the homestead yards where they’d driven the cattle after mustering. Focusing on the task had been difficult—his thoughts had been occupied with Gemma and the kiss they’d shared.

He hadn’t been at all happy with his side of the encounter. The contact had stunned him, causing him to draw away instead of pulling her into his arms. Now, the only way to fix his mistake was to kiss her again. But Cal wasn’t sure whether he ought to take the lead on that or let her make the first move again.